Quilt Spirits
by DreamersMyth27
Summary: Normally Damian would be out with his father and siblings patrolling Gotham at this hour. Halloween was always a busy time for villains, especially in Gotham. The only reason he wasn't going out tonight was because Grayson had insisted that he take a day off and celebrate Halloween like a normal child. Somehow he'd even found out Jon had invited him to go trick or treating and agre


**Here it is! The final part of the Batfam Halloween Content War 2k18 Day Three! The prompt was _Spooky_. I'd love to hear what y'all think! Again, written on my phone, so probably isn't perfect. :)**

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Normally Damian would be out with his father and siblings patrolling Gotham at this hour. Halloween was always a busy time for villains, especially in Gotham. The only reason he wasn't going out tonight was because Grayson had insisted that he take a day off and celebrate Halloween like a _normal_ child. Somehow he'd even found out Jon had invited him to go trick or treating and agreed on Damian's behalf.

Damian wouldn't admit it - to anyone - but he was glad that he would be able to do this, in a way. He was… excited, he supposed was the right word. He _wasn't_ going to dress up though. That would be childish.

… Probably wasn't going to dress up, Damian amended. He was going with Jon, after all. Though Damian was beginning to get frustrated. Jon said he would be arriving here to pick Damian up at seven, and while it wasn't seven yet, Damian's whole family was patrolling already - the more harmless crazies started early - and Alfred was in the Batcave manning the comms. That meant Damian was alone in the Manor, relatively. He still had Alfred the Cat and Titus. Batcow wasn't allowed inside, much to Damian's chagrin. Neither was Goliath, though Damian understood that rule. The point was, Damian was bored.

He settled down in front of the fireplace in the main living room with his notebook again to keep the boredom at bay; it would give him a chance to practice drawing Titus, who was curled up at the foot of Damian's chair, sleeping. Alfred the Cat was on his lap while he drew, occasionally meowing when Damian stopped petting him with his spare hand.

Damian rushed through his drawing and at the end he was almost embarrassed to say he'd drawn it. The shading was atrocious, the angles were off, and Titus' eyes were all wrong. All in all, it wasn't Damian's best work. But it wasn't his worst either, and progress was progress.

Suddenly he heard a loud noise from the hallways, the sound of someone bumping heavily into the wall. Damian froze and set his sketchbook down silently, slipping out from under the quilt and tiptoeing towards the hallway.

He stuck his head out into the hallway carefully, conscious the entire time that this was not normal. Pennyworth would never make such noise, and neither would any of his family unless they were suffering from extreme blood loss. There was no one there, no intruder, no Pennyworth, no father, no Goliath sneaking around. Nothing that could have caused such a noise.

"Pennyworth?" Damian asked. "Father? Grayson?"

There was no answer, not that Damian expected there to be one, but still. This was strange. He might have been able to convince himself that it had been in his head, except for the sudden ten degree drop in temperature. Damian shivered and breathed out. His breath came out as a fog.

"Who's there?" Damian demanded. "Show yourself."

He wrapped his arms around his body and shivered again, slowly turning in all directions, trying to spot whoever was doing this. It had to be someone, because Damian's life wasn't normal enough for this to just be a draft and a creaky house.

The temperature dropped again. Damian shivered more, glaring at the air.

"Who's doing this? I demand you show yourself. I am Damian Wayne and this is my home."

"Wayne?" a woman's voice whispered from behind him. "Damian Wayne? Is that your name? You look so much like Bruce."

Damian whipped around only to see no one behind him. "Where are you? Who are you?"

"Martha," the woman said from behind him again. "I'm Martha."

Damian turned around again, and just like before, no one and nothing was there.

"What are you?"

"I… I don't know. The last thing I remember was a gun and a loud noise. I just woke up two days ago and no can see me. Until just a moment ago, no one could hear me either."

She sounded… sad. Lonely.

"A gun?" Damian asked carefully. "Are you Martha Wayne, by chance?"

"Yes!" the voice exclaimed. "I am. Did I die?"

Damian nodded carefully, eyes darting around the room. "Yes. I am sorry."

"It's okay, I'm fine. Did Thomas remarry? Are you Bruce's brother?" she asked curiously. She didn't sound mean, just curious. Damian wasn't sure whether to believe if this was happening or not. If this was really Martha Wayne or not.

"You and Thomas Wayne are both dead," Damian said. "Your son is my father."

There was a soft gasp, this time from right in front of him. "Oh, really? You're my Brucie's son? How old are you?"

Damian shifted. "Thirteen. Can you show yourself yet?"

"I don't know. Let me try." The words gave him the mental image of someone frowning in concentration. Damian recognized the tone of voice as being one he used quite often. Perhaps she'd been the one his father got it from.

A moment later the air in front of him shimmered and a woman materialized in front of him. She was very beautiful, wearing a dress and light coat. Her hair was short and curled and around her neck hung a pearl necklace. Her throat had a hole leaking a continuous stream of blood that seemed to disappear in mid air.

"So you are my grandmother," Damian said absently, busy looking at her, thoroughly categorizing everything he could about her appearance. "It's lovely to finally meet you."

Damian didn't suspect this as being a trick anymore, simply because one could not be raised in the League of Assassins and not pick up a few things about magic, spirits, and things of that ilk. She was truly his grandmother's ghost, stuck on the mortal plane in a deep sleep until someone had disturbed her tether.

"You're so handsome," she said quietly, kneeling down and trying to touch his cheek. As it was, her hand just went through him. Damian shivered at the sensation.

"You should stay here for a bit," Damian said. "Father would like to see you."

She laughed, sadly. "I think he would. I'd like to see him too. My baby boy, all grown up."

"He should be back soon," Damian said. "Probably around two in the morning. I could tell Pennyworth you're here."

"Alfred." Martha smiled. "He's still around?"

Damian scoffed. "I don't think we could get rid of him if we tried."

"That sounds like him," she said, shaking her head gently. "He works too much."

"In many ways," Damian agreed. While talking to her his mind raced. What had changed in the past two days that might have woken her up? Suddenly, Alfred the Cat meowed loudly. Damian glanced over. The quilt! Of course.

"Did you make this quilt?" he asked, pointing to it.

"Yes," Martha said, floating over. "It wasn't finished. It was going to be for Bruce's birthday."

That was why it was still here, not thrown away. The sub-par craftsmanship was because it was made by her. Probably her first quilt. Alfred must have put it away after she died.

Imagine his father's face when he came back and Damian showed him her. He'd probably smile like a fool. Though he probably wouldn't enjoy seeing the wound that had caused her death. And he might try and find his father's ghost, if he was still around.

Damian frowned. This was beginning to feel less like a blessing and more like a curse in disguise.

"Grandmother," Damian began. "I think your spirit is attached to the quilt."

"Probably," she agreed. "You think I shouldn't stay."

Damian wondered if he was that easy to ready for everyone. "Yes. I think father might make himself go crazy trying to bring you back or find Thomas."

"Bruce always was determined," she agreed fondly. "You're probably right. How would I leave?"

"Burn the blanket," Damian said simply, shrugging. "Your spirit would be put to rest and move on."

"And that's the best, isn't it," she sighed.

"Yes."

"Then let's do it."

"I could wait," Damian offered. "Let you see father before you leave. He wouldn't have to know."

Martha shook her head. "No. I know myself. I don't think I could stay hidden. Just, tell me about him first, Damian. Please."

Damian nodded. "Of course, grandmother."

He launched into a story about his father, how he'd come to raise Grayson, then Jason, Tim, Cassandra, him, Duke. He kept Batman out of it. Left it as a normal, happy family story. Made them seem perfect. Idyllic. And when he was out of stories and the time came to burn the blanket, Martha nodded her head once, smiled, and disappeared.

Damian went trick or treating with Jon not even thirty minutes later. He even wore a dumb Batman costume Grayson had gotten him. Life was short, Damian knew that. He would enjoy it while he could. Besides, he thought his grandmother would appreciate know he was being the normal child he'd made himself out to be.


End file.
